


Strong in a New Way: The Atomic Monologues

by RiverDelta



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Cold War, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-08-19 21:24:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16542530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiverDelta/pseuds/RiverDelta
Summary: One of them's a mentally troubled nuclear scientist. One of them's her fake lover, a Russian spy. Another one of them might be a ghost, or maybe the nuclear scientist's just lost it. The year is 1947, and the intersection of love, morality, and suffering has come to provide its deadly payload.Peridot's losing her mind. If she's lucky, Lapis might save her, but how much has to be sacrificed to survive in the era of the atom?





	1. Ghosts and White Rabbits

**PERIDOT:**

I think that we’ve abandoned God. Damn it. Calm down. Peridot. Calm down. Calm down. Alright. I have a tape recorder. I just got one. I am very happy with it. It seems to be recording my voice. Wait. Is this working? I hope it is. Logically, it should. I suppose I’ll have to check it or something, so as to make sure, afterward. Well, operating under the assumption that this massive thing is working, Logdate: June 2nd, 1947.

Anyway, this is Olivia Arriola Cardoso, but you (Because you’re me) and the rest of my friends know me as Peridot due to that drunk night in 1939. Wait, I was talking about God. I think. Well, to give some context for myself when I look upon these records in thirty years and no doubt confusedly wonder why I was talking about abandoning God, it’s because I keep having those visions. Not dreams. Visions. Not talking about Indian vision quest visions, or the like. I mean like I keep thinking of detailed daydreams.

Yes. Daydreams. That is in fact the word that I would use to properly describe my current predicament. I keep thinking about death camps and atomic bombs, propaganda and soldiers marching down the streets of El Paso, people shot on the radio along with the sports and a soothing man’s voice. Those kind of thoughts. I keep seeing the future. Death camps, I ask? Yes, I. As this is for me. If anyone else is listening to my logs, please stop. I order you to stop! These are mine!

Right. Right. Anyway, we all remember Hitler, right? How could we forget him? He only dominated the American mind for years and invaded the entirety of Europe.

Okay. Not all of Europe. He skipped Britain, for one, and Sweden. The point is that he invaded the vast majority of Europe and the Soviet Union, and put millions of people to death, based on a racial, fascist ideology.

You already knew that, though, because you’re me and this happened only a few years ago. My point, future me, is that it’s going to happen again. Or, well, it could. It probably will. Here’s the issue. We turned down Jews trying to escape from Europe due to many of the same things that the Germans used to justify what they did. Trust me when I say that America isn’t exactly immune to prejudice, future me.

Or, my time period’s America. Yours is most likely even worse. Remember that thing that I’m sure that you’ve tried to wipe from your memory like so much gunk on the window that is your brain? We called it the Mark III. Then we called it the Fat Man. It destroyed a city. We helped to make that bomb. That makes you, Peridot of 1977, and I, Peridot of 1947, accomplices to the murder of some 140,000 people. You know, roughly. I’d like to think that it’s making a difference, that it stopped Japan, who really were as bad as Hitler. I can’t convince myself of that.

Where am I bringing this, you ask? Or, perhaps you don’t, as the future that I’m predicting is probably there by 1977 or whenever you decide to review the tapes you made as a young woman. Fascist America! That’s what I’m talking about. Fascist America! We’re dangerously close to it. Everyone’s terrified of the commies, we have all sorts of people who aren’t white to purge, and we’re all so happy about this vile thing, the bomb, country’s fascinated with it, that we’re forgetting that as soon as the American Hitler harnesses that energy and uses those scapegoats, and he is coming, we’ll be the first fascist nation with the atomic bomb. Every war we fight will include death tolls like Nagasaki.

All because of me. Yay.... So I guess this is the day I’ve decided to do something about it. Sooner or later some Ruskie spy’s going to show up here, in this rented Houston apartment, and if I can’t undo what I’ve done I’m going to damn well make sure to even the scales so that when the American swastika comes, the fascist clods won’t be the only people with the atomic bomb.

 

 

**JASPER:**

I guess that you could call me an angel. Or a ghost. I’m not sure which. On one hand, angels fly with wings. That was what I was. A pilot. I flew. On the other hand, angels served God, and damn if I’m going to serve someone who doesn’t exist.

Thinking about it, a ghost is just a memory, someone too stubborn to die. Well, fuck, looks like I’m a ghost. Or maybe I’m just a figment of Lionidze’s fucked-up psyche. I always knew she was broken. Her dead doll stare should have made that clear enough. Stupid suka.

I don’t like her much. Alright, that should have been obvious, yes, but I don’t like Lapis Lionidze very much. Ignoring the very un-Soviet name (I doubt that Lapis is a Georgian name), Lapis Lionidze should have been so much more. She should have been a soldier. A hero. A true Soviet airwoman. Someone you’d see in Pravda.

That was what we all were supposed to be. But none of us were that. You want to know what we were? We were weapons. Me? I’m at peace with that. Pilot, airwoman, soldier, weapon, that was what I was always meant to be.

All those words meant nothing when I died, when I spoke to someone. I don’t know what she was, or if I’m even thinking lucidly, I suspect that my rebirth must have been, if it happened at all, more akin to an odd dream than ascension to Heaven.

This was because I’m too stubborn to die, I assume. At any rate, sometimes, every so often, especially in counter-revolutionary and Tsarist things, you used to see Russia drawn and talked about like a woman. Mother Russia, Mother Motherland, that sort of thing. I would like to believe that the woman in the old, useless white formal clothing of a past best forgotten wasn’t her.

Mother Russia. I met her, she had nothing but shame for me, I had nothing but insults for her, it was like a dream. The Winter Palace. I have only seen pictures of the outside, so I assume that my mind, whatever it was as a ghost-memory, created an inside.

A Soviet airwoman and a symbol of Old Russia. We didn’t get along. She begged me to forswear my beliefs and my trail of blood. I told her to go fuck herself. As I walked away from her, that woman I hope is nothing more than a post-crash fever dream, I heard the oily voice of another nonexistent being. The devil. His voice was afraid. Cunning, soft, the loving sound of a husband intending terrible things, but he was afraid. He kept telling me this, as I left the room, past the endless chandeliers, the whites, the golds, through all of the luxury that would be everyone’s in the socialist future but that was hoarded in the past, and he kept telling me this.

My vision told me that he was not to blame for who I had become. That I was not a killer because of him. I had lept into that pool of blood and told myself it was for Comrade Stalin and that I shouldn’t care. Honestly, I was always a hooligan, a bitch, suka. I wouldn’t have cared.

But it was never the devil’s fault.

 

 

**LAPIS:**

When my family were nobles, years and years ago, before any of this shit happened, they were part of the people who ruled the world. Or, well, sometimes it seemed like it. We were descended by marriage from those in the court of Peter the Great, the court of Catherine, but that was a long time ago.

So, when my parents disappeared in the night, as people, you know, did, when the Bolsheviks took control, I was left with not much more than a stack of books. I was kept from going to school, then I was kept from working, if I’d gotten sick with something fatal I would have been kept from going to the hospital to keep from dying.

So I was an outcast from birth, Zhasbera. You’re the New Soviet Woman. Not me. My family, though, only left me so much. That was because your government of the people took it all. There was a book I used to read as a child, though, about a little girl...Alisa...who fell into a fantasy world where nothing made sense, and she’s stuck sort of just going along for the ride.

I could relate. Sometimes, Zhasbera, Jasper, Fekla, may I call you Fekla? Fuck it. I know that you’ve never experienced what having absolutely no power over a situation is, but there you are. The Politruk. The one who had the ability to report any of us, your fucking comrades, your airwomen, for treason...Some true Soviet airwoman you turned out to be, Fekla.

So I kept chasing that white rabbit, because what else was I going to do? It led me into the cockpit of a Po-2, it led me and you into the sights of an AA gun, it led me to a prison cell in Poland, where the Hitlerites gave me an offer at gunpoint. To get back at the country that had...I couldn’t turn that offer down. Of course. I didn’t. Why would I, Zhasbera?

Anyway, right now, I’m sleeping in a small bed in a Houston apartment, in Texas. Floral print. The recording device is on. You look really out of place, Great and Mighty Political Officer Fekla Adamovna Zhasbera. New Soviet Woman. We’re in America now.

I should probably talk about the American. She speaks with an accent. I haven’t heard it before. She doesn’t have a right leg. Some sort of false leg. I asked her if she served in the war, she said she was part of her army’s engineering corps.

I expected worse. She’s messy, chaotic, tends to ramble on, and she has the strangest fascination with a radio show. “Camp Pining Hearts”? I believe it is Canadian. You should hear her talk about it, Fekla.

I think I’m starting to like America. I might not have any choice in my life, but I never had a choice to begin with, and this is so far away from Russia indeed. Not that the NKVD isn’t watching me. I think that I could convince myself to love this woman. I think. I’ve done this kind of thing before, Politruk.

 

 

**PERIDOT:**

Love at first sight is real. There’s no other way to put it. Honestly. I’m looking at this woman, this spy, and she’s beautiful. She has her hair in this kind of bob cut, like something out of a photo, or something, you know, like of a 1920s flapper. It’s black hair, like, ink black, and I could tell that it was poorly managed.

She looked uncomfortable in the tight steel-blue jacket, the cinched waist and wide hips of her long skirt...dramatic, I suppose. She looked swanky, but she also looked like she wasn’t used to it. She had this kind of awkward walk, and at one point she kind of complained about her clothes being weirdly tight and itchy. I wonder if Ruskies dress differently. Probably.

She’s beautiful, though. Like an angel. She has that devil-may-care look going on, and she gives me this stare, like, one of those stares that goes straight through you, and checks this picture in her hand, and then looks at me, then looks at the picture again, then looks at me.

Finally, after doing this, like, four times, I finally ask “Is there something wrong”? Then she says, “I was hoping your photo was a mistake”, and I roll my eyes. “Wow. Nice to meet you too, Lazuli.” That’s her name, apparently. Lazuli. Or, well, I’m sure it’s a fake name, because I don’t know if I’ve ever heard someone with that name before. It sounds French, maybe. Lapis Lazuli. I think that’s a stone?

Okay, I’m 90% sure right now that this woman isn’t actually named Lapis Lazuli. I know that theoretically someone could be named Lapis Lazuli, and she probably has some whole cover story about this, but right now, I’m deeply suspicious as to...I do have to wonder if they gave her a rock-themed name to reference my drunken nickname. Peridot and Lapis Lazuli. How queer.

Anyway, so, I tried to talk to her, and figure out what her deal was. I asked her how the flight was. She said “Flight was fine.”  And then I was like “So...you’re a Russian spy, right? And we have to get married, and pretend to be in love, so that I can send nuclear secrets through you to the USSR?” She nodded, and I kind of tried to pretend like I knew what the plan was past that, so I didn’t ask anything, but I’m pretty sure that she knows I have no idea what the hell I’m doing. Then I asked “Do they train you to be cold and mysterious over there?” She nodded, and her hair fluttered a bit in the wind. She has a body to die for, by the way. She moves like the wind itself, or something. She’s graceful. She knows what she is.

I don’t know what she is, but she obviously does.

We shared drinks, red wine, I didn’t drink any, she did, and I asked what Russia was like. Her response was actually...It was I think the first glimpse of, like, humanity under the mask. “Parts of Russia are very beautiful, from what I’ve seen. The society itself used to be something, too.” I had to lie awake at night to realize just how dangerous that sentence was. I asked if she was a good Communist right after she said it, though. She smiled at me and nodded just a bit, like it was a joke. Finally, I asked what she thought about the bomb. She just took another sip of wine.

So why do I love her? It’s probably just lust, or me having a crush on her, or merely desperation. After all, she is my only lifeline now that I’ve sold my soul to the USSR. Sold my soul. Christ, I’m acting like these people are the devil. They really aren’t, Peridot. That’s Present Peridot. Not Future Peridot. If I don’t specify, I’m talking to myself. Anyway, the Soviets fought with us. They fought the Nazis. They’re...just another kind of hero.

Heroism. Sometimes I think that that’s a myth. Heroism. Doing the right thing, on a grand scale. Sure, there’s, you know, being nice, to people, and saving lives, and that kind of heroism exists, but sometimes I think that countries are incapable of it.

I hope that the USSR and US are fundamentally good. I want to believe that in the end the two superpowers are good enough that they’re trying to do what they’re talking about, improving the world. I want to believe that people can be good with that kind of power. I want to believe that they won’t drop the bombs over and over.

But I can’t. So now all I’ve got to hold onto is this hasty love with a cold, hard-drinking broad that I can’t stop thinking about.


	2. War, Glory, Sugar, and Reinvention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peridot copes with changes and gets a little bit closer to her phony wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for suicide.

**PERIDOT:**

You know, I think that this might work. She came into the apartment, and we talked for a bit, and then slept, and then I woke up, and she had for me some scrambled eggs and coffee. I’m sure she was just playing the part, of course, but I appreciated the gesture.

I looked into her eyes, though, and they’re dead. It’s like she has two glass eyes that just happen to work. You know how eyes are the windows to the soul? Well, if that’s true, then Lapis Lazuli doesn’t actually have a soul. Not that I’m complaining.

She seems very nice. I’m sure you can be a wonderful person without a soul. I know that some might disagree, but I’m a rational person and a woman of science, and so, given that there’s no actual proof for the existence of the soul...

Whatever. My point is that she’s like a doll. Her body’s perfect, but her eyes just aren’t right. It’s kind of something else. I can’t help but be around her, though. The more I stay by her, eat her food, listen to her speak in what I’m guessing is a fake accent, the more I feel whole.

I feel human.

As though, well, as though I have someone. I feel like I can reinvent myself, diary. Is this a diary? Whatever. It’s kind of a diary. Diary, future Peridot, I feel like...Have you ever....No, no. My point is that she has this kindness.

You barely see it, but it’s in her motions. As we started to interact, she started to just relax a bit and move differently, and her motions begun to really carry this kind of warmth. I don’t have anyone else, but I think I might be able to absolve myself of what I’ve done.

 

 

**JASPER:**

You sold us out, You sold us out, You sold us out, You sold us out, You sold us out, suka, you sold us out. Counter-revolutionary, wrecker, spy, traitor, you’re worse than a disgrace, suka, suka, suka. **Nazi.**

 

 

**LAPIS:**

Stop saying that! I’m...I’m not a bitch. Or a Nazi. I just...It was a means to an end, and...it ended what I intended it to. Do you think that I wanted to work with them? We both know what they did, now. Or, well, I do. I’m not even sure that you’re real.

But it was a means to an end, Jasper. We both went down. I know you'll say it was because I abandoned the rest of you and left you wide open,. That’s bullshit and you know it, Zhasbera! We both went down, I got lucky, you didn’t. I had to survive somehow.

Sure, I turned on Russia, but Russia, and it was Russia and not the Soviet Union, fuck you, it was Russia, they took everything from me. My Russia was dead, Jasper, and your Soviet bullshit killed it. I wanted revenge.

Maybe that was understandable. Maybe it was childish. Either way, I found myself there in a cell in Poland, with the Waffen-SS. There they gave me a choice. Even you would have taken it. I just...I just don’t delude myself by believing that I did it because I had to. I had to, but I also wanted to.

I’m open about that, Jasper. I’m not so drenched in lies that I can’t admit that to myself. Before you blame me, though, remember that if your Russia didn’t make the Nazis look like a good option, and think about how far your Russia would have to fall to do that, then I would never have gone to such an extreme.

So here I am. Hoping to reinvent myself. I’m not a Nazi anymore, Jasper, and I never was one at heart. I just...did what they said, and felt like some idiot child that I was doing the right thing, or what I wanted to do, or whatever.

It’s a goddamn haze.

 

 

**PERIDOT:**

Dear Future Peridot. In case you’ve begun to forget all of this there in 1977 or whatever, I should probably get into the people I actually have as friends. Besides my infatuation. There’s Dr. Amy Baumann, a very theoretical physicist who more or less has only deigned to be with us peons because she thinks that we’re pretty funny, and has a very strong friendship with Pearl.

There’s Dr. DeMayo, that would be Rose, she’s the insufferable one with the fondness for pink who’s taller than Jasper. Her response to me asking who that was was along the lines of: Oh. Yeah. Jasper. You mean Zhasbera? My ghost. The one that’s following me. The dead pilot. You don’t see her, Peridot, right? (No, but, Lapis, if you listen to this, I’m sorry you have to deal with her ghost, I...appreciate you confiding in me...)

Everyone deals with grief in different ways, I guess. Anyway, Dr. DeMayo is somehow seemingly morally perfect and also one of the people who tries to ignore the moral ramifications of what we’re doing. Amy’s similar. There's lots of them. That leaves Pearl, who’s a bit above me, and, well...She’s brilliant. Intelligent, sophisticated, organized, she treats engineering almost as a fine art as much as a science. She’s in love with Dr. DeMayo, and good luck, I guess.

 

 

**JASPER:**

Look at that, Lapis. Peridot’s finally lost her mind. There she is. Standing there still. Like a doll. Dead eyes. Now you finally match. Maybe you are meant to be a couple.

Having your hero hang herself does that. Maybe you just bring death wherever you go, Lapis. You never were a soldier. You weren’t even a weapon. You’re a fucking bullet. Expendable. Useful for one purpose. Deserving of no compassion. Considering your previous track record, you’re a defective bullet.

Go comfort Cordoso before she ends up like Pearl.

 

 

**PEARL:**

Hello, Dr. Cordoso. Olivia. Should I call you Olivia? Or Peridot? I’m really not sure. I’ll go with Peridot, if only because you seemed to always prefer it the most. Peridot. Maybe it was an attempt to emulate me? Dr. Pearl Nacre? Your superior? Your...I don’t want to say idol, as that would be very self-congratulatory of me, but...

At any rate, as you’ve always preferred Peridot, ever since we met, and I never learned why you went by such an odd name, I suppose I should begin. Good evening. The time is 1:00 AM, on the dot. Here I am! Standing here, at the foot of your bed! Pearl’s ghost. I suppose our unfinished business’ tied us here. Whatever it is, I hope you can find a way to fix it that isn’t completely mental.

Shakespeare wrote in Richard II that of “Woe, destruction, ruin, and decay; the worst is death, and death will have his day.” I can say for certain that we have both created all of those things in our work. Nagasaki comes to mind.

I never got to see my body, Peridot. You remember the Breaking Point, right? The so-called “Third Shot”, the third plutonium core, the one that was going to be dropped on Japan if the Little Boy and Fat Man didn’t make them capitulate? After the Gadget that I saw them detonate at Socorro, the first mushroom cloud, after the Fat Man that should have damned us both to Hell, there was the Breaking Point. The nickname was cute, of course. Blame Dr. Baumann for that.

Breaking point. How apt.

There was a blue glow from it when I messed that up, let something fall, tried to push...It was a mess. There was a blue glow, and, well. I felt a tingling in my hand, then the skin started to burn, and I knew that it would become far far worse, I knew that I’d die agonizingly within a month . Honestly, after Rose...My Rose...after she left me, found Greg...

What else was there, Peridot?

I did the deed swiftly, and I never saw my body. I instead saw a mass of writhing limbs attached to a gangrenous core, one that was the ground, I floated like...like a ghost, I saw a planet made of flesh and mutilated, mutated limbs, some more claw-like and gangrenous than others.

Then, I remembered you, and asked whatever the planet was to, well, really I asked nobody in particular, but it was the only being that happened to be there, and I thought it was a nightmare, so I asked to wake up. I thought I was in a coma.

I did, and, well, now here I am. Tethered to the planet of limbs and to an endless expanse of fluffy clouds and endless midday that I have no desire to explore. Peridot. Don’t do this. Don’t betray us and give more countries this power. We can reinvent ourselves. We don’t need to be deathbringers.

Peridot, we’ve had enough woe, destruction, ruin, and decay.

 

 

**PERIDOT:**

It’s official. If you didn’t already think I’d gone mad, future Peridot, this seals the deal. Let me lay out the timeline here, in case you somehow fail to remember this. Which would be ridiculous. Anyways.

Pearl hanged herself. I know you still know this. I found out yesterday. Not a great call to receive, believe me. It was an accident during one of her experiments with the unused plutonium core. I think it was the one they were going to use if Japan didn’t surrender. On whichever city that was going to be- it doesn’t matter. I don’t even know the details, but she messed up an experiment or something and now my friend is dead.

Honestly, it was a shock more than anything. She was the brilliant physicist, seriously, she was so smart. I don’t know how she did it all. All of that for what? Screwing up and deciding to hang herself because all that radiation was going to be even worse? It’s not fair to her. She was supposed to, I don’t know, go on and discover something big. Win a Nobel Prize, I don’t know. She had the potential, I think. She deserved better than a dumb slip-up ending her life.

I wasn’t able to sleep much last night, and what I did get was… not fun. Dreams tend to get weird when you’re stressed. You know about my day visions, so night time doesn’t seem all that out there. But jeez, this one was vivid. It was like I wasn’t even asleep, and that’s why I’m telling you I’m mad- I don’t even know if I was asleep. She came to me in my bedroom. I don’t even remember drifting off.

I’d like to think that Pearl would choose me out of all people to appear to after death, the fidgety engineer, but it’s impossible to expect something like that. She even went ahead and warned me to change my ways- Christmas Carol style. Gave the full speech, it was all so _her._ Even some pretentious Shakespeare reference. She seemed so… regretful. I don’t think I’m creative enough to make this up. But it can’t be real. She’s dead!

I need more time to figure this out. Expect more about this soon- I don’t think that this is over.

 

 

**LAPIS:**

I’ve never felt more satisfaction out of seeing someone break down in front of me than when the engineer told me that she thought she saw a ghost. I didn’t show it then, though, merely watched and nodded as she rambled on about her friend that you so kindly used as an excuse to try and torment me further, Jasper. It seems maybe I’m not as screwed up as I thought I was, or at the very least, I get to spend my time in America with someone as screwed up as I am.

I may have dealt with a lot of shit in my time, but I still feel bad for her. Losing a friend is horrible, plain and simple. I’m not that desensitized yet, although I know you’d love to gloat over the death of another capitalist. As for Peridot, capitalist or not, she seems like a good person, and if we didn’t have to be lovers, I think we could be good friends. Even if I have to tune out the “Camp Pining Hearts” speeches.

 

 

**JASPER:**

You really are pathetic, Lionidze. Betraying us to one enemy wasn’t enough for you, was it? Now, here you are, sympathizing with a fucking American. An enemy of the people. Yes, she might be working with Soviets, but it’s a foolish mistake to actually believe a word these bastards say. They’re almost as unfaithful to their ideals as you are!

Your “sympathy” is just another sign of your weakness, Lapis. You’re not just a doll- you’re a marionette. Everyone around you just pulls a few strings and there you are- dancing for them like the puppet you are. I don’t know if you betrayed us because of your disloyalty to the cause or plain weakness- the fact that I have to weigh both of them is a disgrace.

Go have fun on your “little date,” you capitalist-sympathizing bitch.

 

 

**PERIDOT:**

Aah, where do I start? It was fantastic! Everything- her, the dinner, the walk- well, mostly her, but doing this all _with_ her made it fantastic. She even seemed to lighten up a bit, like she was enjoying herself! Hold on, Peridot. Back up. Slow down. I know this is good cause for rambling- control yourself. Chances are, I might not remember the subject of this rambling in the future. So let’s try and start from the beginning.

I’m not sure why she decided to take us out on a date. I mean, yeah- we do have to get married, she probably wanted to get used to it. When I asked, though, all she said was “I thought it might be nice.” That’s good enough for me, future Peridot! We decided on dinner, something local, not too expensive. We kept it casual, but even in a simple blue dress, I couldn’t keep my eyes off of her.

One thing I’ve learned is that she isn’t very talkative. Or maybe just compared to me. I was happy to command most of the conversation, she listened with a few comments or questions. She was interested in some American culture things, but she even asked a little about me! Yes, I probably am a little head over heels, future me. You better not be laughing- it’s a really nice feeling.

We went on a walk after dinner, in the evening. On the outskirts of El Paso, there weren’t many people, and we could discuss the plans that lay ahead of us more comfortably. Apparently, we get our marriage papers and everything early next week, and after that we set out for Los Alamos for a short honeymoon before getting to work.

So I think you can understand why I would be excited about this. We’re going to be a couple soon, and even if it’s for a different purpose, I want to believe we can make something out of it. At the very least, tonight got my mind off of things. Hopefully I can keep that streak running.

 

 

 **LAPIS** :

Yes, I took her on a date. Berate me as much as you want, but it had its advantages. It helped her stop thinking about the Pearl thing for the time being, and I got to learn more about how a “regular American” acts through immersion. Plus, if we really are going to be getting married, we have to learn how to act the part. A nice dinner out was a good way to get started down that road.

Now that I’ve explained myself from the cold, logical standpoint, (if this was a video, she would be smirking here) which seems like it would be the only thing that could breach your thick Bolshevik skull, I have to say that I enjoyed myself. Not just because of the dinner, either. It was interesting to learn more about the person who’s going to be my wife next week, and she really isn’t that bad at all. The long-winded way of speaking took a while to get used to, but it’s kind of endearing. Overall, it all could be much, much worse. I’m satisfied with this, and as long as we stay careful I’m feeling more optimistic about the whole plan. She picked up on it quickly, and seemed satisfied with it.

The one thing that will take some time to adjust to is the weird American sugar obsession. Peridot insisted I order a “Coke,” if I was really going to be a believable American. I can’t believe they actually drink this shit, Jasper. It’s like liquified sugar, and almost everyone in the restaurant was just okay with it. The engineer seemed amused enough. If we make it out of this alive, I’m making her drink vodka.

 

 

 


	3. The Cheshire Cat and Icarus

**PERIDOT:**

Today, I learned about what Lapis' did before she was, well, a spy. Kind of. I don't buy most of it, but you know what? It's at least a story, and I think that's what matters in the end, I'm going to be entirely honest, here. Or, well, I hope that’s what matters, because I’m kind of annoyed. She told me this. "My name is what I said. Lapis Lazuli. I'm twenty-nine, I was born in Georgia. The state, of course. Savannah. There, It was much greener than out here, much more mountainous, and the Black Sea was- I mean, er, the…Atlantic Ocean, right, right, the Atlantic Ocean, it was beautiful. Endless water. Not like this dry wasteland. Everything's flat."

We talked like this there in the car on the drive to Los Alamos, back to, you know, my job, which is just fun, I guess. Happy that I'm going to get to finally have something like that back in my life. "Oh, Peridot, the greatest mistake you've ever made, time to go back to the place where you made it!" Ugh. Anyway, I mentioned that I was probably just used to flat deserts, since I grew up in El Paso, but at least we had the Rio Grande.

Honestly, since she did that whole thing where she waxed poetic about the "Atlantic Ocean", I feel like I should do the same for the Rio Grande, but it really wasn't that special. It's just a river. Anyway, continuing with what she told me... "When I was fifteen, I started learning to fly. I came from a rich family. Dad owned a clothing factory." "Dad". Huh. Maybe she's better at noticing little America details than I thought a Ruskie might be.

"Even though the Depression hit us hard, like it hit everyone, we still made do, and well, I was lucky. Loving parents. We...I learned how to fly. I got lessons. Oh, Peridot, I can't express enough what it's like to be able to fly. It's just...It's...My plane was a...Tiger Moth." I noticed her stop there.

Like, she sort of said "Tiger Moth" in such a way that she...She didn't say it right. I had to wonder how true that was. Sure, I know this is all crap, but there's a spectrum of crap. Some things can be more crap than other things. "The Tiger Moth was...Sure, it was fragile, it kept breaking, and it made the weirdest sound with the propeller." Then she stopped, and caught herself. "You know, like most biplanes. That noise."

I sighed a bit and listened, until eventually I just kind of spoke up. I was pretty done. I said, "Lapis. If you're going to feed me this crap, at least put in some effort." She nodded and pulled over to the motel where we had to stay for the night. It was a small place, the archetypal cheap motel. Zero cars in sight besides our old Hudson 6, which looked more like a...I dunno...goblin shark than a car.

I paid for a room, and the place smelled like smoke and piss. The smoke I get, but the piss was what got me uncomfortable. The cockroaches underneath the bed...I don't want to talk about that whole fiasco. Suffice to say that we ended up with six cockroach corpses around the bed and the both of us tired and flopping on the bed like goddamn rag dolls.

The slip-ups were still bugging me, though. I gather all the courage that exists in my...frankly sort of shamefully tiny body, and I bring it up. Then, I said, "Are you half-assing lying to me for the mission, or what? If they picked you for this, you can't be this bad of a liar. I don't know why, but I'm oddly hurt."

 

 

**LAPIS:**

You know, I had a pretty consistent story I was given. I had files of my fake family I had to memorize, a  life story on paper that I had to somehow pretend was my own, an accent to master as best as I could, pets I supposedly used to have...None of it said anything about flying, or the state of Georgia. In fact, my driver's license says that I'm from Arizona. On the other hand, I don't think that Peridot's going to see my driver's license anytime soon, and it's just a joke. A joke that could get me killed. I’m...new to this.

I probably shouldn't have added any of my real life into this. I shouldn't've mentioned growing up on the Black Sea, or flying, or, especially the weird noise that a Polikarpov Po-2's propeller makes. Oh. Yes. Zhasbera. I'm sure you figured that out. The drive was awkward, and having to keep a consistent story didn't really help matters in any way, especially when I was juggling the "true" story, the true story, and the hybrid that I'd created like an idiot.

So, let me just fucking say, Zhasbera, before you go after me for doing yet another evil thing to fuck over someone who's depending on me, and, by the way, if you're going to go after me for doing what I had to to survive, again, well, I'm done with that shit. Anyway, let me just fucking say that I felt bad. I keep feeling bad.

This innocent womanchild of a scientist who I somehow need to use, you know, because that's the role I've been thrust into, using people, it's almost like when you died someone needed to pick up the slack, this innocent goddamn womanchild...She's got that look. The look that you saw on everyone back in the war.

She's wounded, betrayed, miserable, afraid for her life, and annoyed all at once. Her body's limp, and whenever I touch her she flinches. I tried to tell her "Peridot, you know I can't tell you the real truth, and  it's for the best if you don't sift through the cover story." She didn't listen. She's...idealistic, like that. Idealistic? No, that's a terrible word for it. She's naive.

I just hope that I can get through this without her getting us both killed. Or, well, her arrested and me killed. It's nice to know things are fair and good in this world.

 

 

 **PEARL** :

Good evening, Peridot. I think it's 2:20 AM? According to the clock. I understand what you're feeling, right now. I'm sure you feel very afraid and more than a little bit wounded, and I'm sure that all of that emotion's burning at you. Can I just ask you something, Peridot? Why did you decide to do this to begin with? You're throwing your life away for...for a cause that doesn't even make sense. Please. Stop. Think. Get out of your head for just a moment and try to be rational, here!

I know what it's like to want to undo the past. Not only did I do...as much, if not more than what you've done, but I also had Rose. Remember Rose? Dr. DeMayo? She was...beautiful, confident, intelligent, all-loving, seemingly able to always make the right choice, and I did everything I could for her. I worked under her for only a few years, but she and I...we were close.

I thought we were close enough, anyway.

Now, I don't even have the chance to...But maybe that's the problem. Maybe I shouldn't be thinking in terms of keeping Greg from being able to be with the woman he loves. That's probably harmful. I'm...digressing, here. My point is, Peridot, that we've all made errors. Sometimes bigger errors than others.

Maturity isn't in trying to burn up everything we've ever made to fix those errors. It's about just moving on. I should know, because if I wasn't dead and more reflective than my living self I'd be going to every possible length to get her back, just like you're doing now with your cause...and we'd both be wrong.

 

 

**PERIDOT:**

Your crush isn't the same thing as stopping World War III.

 

 

**PEARL:**

I’m sorry, then, Peridot. You need to give up.

 

 

**PERIDOT:**

The only way to do that would be to turn myself in. I’m a traitor now, Pearl. I can’t give up. I made this decision, I need it to turn out to be a good one...Either way, I’m stuck doing this. It’s just that if it’s a mistake, I’m going to go down with the ship.

 

 

**JASPER:**

It’s remarkable how much this place reminds me of our time in the 588th Night Bomber division. I felt it from the moment you and the American entered through the gates. Of course, being an American base makes things entirely different, and it isn’t exactly an aerodrome, but that feeling of recognizing something familiar still remains. Maybe you feel it too, if you haven’t entirely repressed those memories. The cramped living quarters, that militaristic air, army base or not, but also that persistent feeling of comradery, even if it’s for all the wrong reasons in this case. I can almost respect it.

More than anything else, seeing you come to a place like this with that scientist, who seems to be taking your “marriage” all too seriously, it makes me remember when we had that. At least I thought we did. Imagine that: me, not yelling at you. Even enjoying your company. Hah! It seems so distant, now, but something tells me if it was entirely gone, I wouldn’t be here telling you this.

I’m sure you’ve tried to forget those days, but I’m also sure that that probably hasn’t worked out for you. I remember chuckling about how you truly were a Night Witch: you had me under your spell entirely, up until you left me to die out there. Seeing the American watch you all lovingly when you aren’t looking is a harsh reminder of how you used me the same way you’re using her.

It’s a shame she can’t see me. I’d tell her to run.

 

 

**PERIDOT:**

I really think that Lapis is beginning to warm up to me! As I’m working at the lab now, that’s reduced the amount of time we get to spend together, but she’s definitely transitioning from mysterious beautiful Soviet spy to really interesting beautiful Soviet spy. I mean, she isn’t telling me everything, that’s obvious, and still pretty annoying- but the meaning behind it seems genuine, and that’s the important thing, I guess. At least that’s what I’m going to believe so I don’t snap at her again. Just yesterday, she had this look on her face- that doesn’t happen often with her, with the whole glassy eyed stare and all most of the time- but it was enough to make me ask what was on her mind. When I spoke it sort of looked like I had startled her, even though I was right there- like she had just woken up, or something. But you remember the stuff about her flying and all? I don’t think that’s made up, even if there’s no way in hell the details are all truth.

So, I repeated myself when she was actually hearing me, and instead of just brushing it off or something like I was expecting her to, she actually answered. She paused for a moment, probably considering how worth it it was, then asked something along the lines of “You remember when I was talking about the… the biplane?” So I guess she took the hint, and decided to keep things “technically” true. You’d think it shouldn’t be a big deal, but I guess it is when the NKVD is involved.

Anyways, I nodded, and she continued. Her eyes light up in this certain way when she’s talking about something that she really enjoys, I guess, and it’s really nice to see since that’s rare for her. Planes are something she really enjoys, apparently. She talked about them for a while, at least for her standards, from the feeling she gets when she’s in the air to doing basic repairs, the whole deal. There was one way she put it that I just can’t get out of my head: “Being up in the air, it makes you feel… like you can do anything.I could just keep flying higher and higher, without limits. It all comes back to you when the… well, it all comes back to you eventually, but you still get the feeling every time…I miss it.”

She almost said that the feelings come back when… well, when something happens, and I think I’m smart enough to have a guess at what. I didn’t push it. Honestly, I was just thrilled to see her open up more! It might be good for her, even. I just hope that whatever the real story is, she manages to figure things out for herself, if that’s even possible.

 

 

**PEARL:**

Hello again, Peridot. I may be interrupting your sleep on a usual schedule now, if you continue to refuse to hear what I have to say. I’ll try, either way. Look, Peridot. I’m getting the impression that you may think that I believe I have all the answers here- that is not the case. I have my convictions, but I don’t know everything, and I don’t want you to see me as some wise philosopher or something who knows all there is to know about this sort of thing because that’s simply false. I’m as human as you are! Not exactly living, but...

It goes further than that, as well. I had very similar thoughts to yours regarding this whole mess, although I imagine you were feeling them before I was. It didn’t really strike me at all that what we were doing could be wrong, until… well, until Trinity.

Trinity was… it’s difficult to describe how it felt. There was a mix of anxiety and excitement, of course, we were all stressed that the rain would cause a delay, or something else could cause a slip up, or anything. The calculations had been run over and over again, but there was still a real chance of failure, and even if we could estimate the radius of the fireball there was no way to calculate what it would really be like to experience a nuclear detonation. We all grew nearly silent in the few seconds before the test was initiated, and pretty much everyone was focused on a metal tower that looked like a needle, miles off into the desert. Protective eyewear, of course.

Seeing our efforts pay off like that, that explosion so much brighter than even the sun itself, at first it was nothing but awe. I couldn’t believe we had actually accomplished it. Afterwards, especially after Hiroshima, I began to think about how I couldn’t believe we had actually done it in an entirely different attitude, which is one you and I shared. We had made our own sun, Peridot- it was beautiful, isn’t that strange to say? It was an atomic fireball, and I found it beautiful. But it really was. I had been proud of us- but hearing the news of thousands and thousands of people _killed_ by what we’d done, I couldn’t believe I had let myself work on a project like this.

So, Peridot, my point in all of this very roundabout manner of speech is that as much as I’d like to claim that I have the correct answer here, I cannot do that. Additionally, I want to make as clear to you as possible that we cannot let it fall into the hands of another nation. I really want to believe that people are naturally good, like Rose did… but people are also naturally frightened. I’m scared, I imagine you are, and even while I’m here pushing you and pushing you to make what I think is the right choice, I just feel… scared. I don’t know if I can pinpoint what exactly that’s coming from. You saw me as some sort of genius, but I’m just afraid.

 

 

**PERIDOT:**

Yeah, well, we all are! Do you think I enjoy imagining my prison cell every day?

 

 

**LAPIS:**

Peridot…

 

 

**PERIDOT:**

But we do it anyway, because, you know what, some stupid clod has to, so Pearl, unless you're some sort of repository for my guilt, so get a clue.

 


	4. The Coldest Hand and the Warmest Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you want to go up, sometimes you have to go straight down.

**LAPIS:**   
  


Peridot was a bit unusual today, I have to say. She was on edge, completely silent the whole day, but I’d poke her, you know, to make sure that she was still responding to the outside world, and she jumped as if I’d stabbed her in the leg with Zhasbera’s officer’s knife. 

Her eyes were dead, glazed over. I could almost see myself in their reflection. No...I think I could. That was what scared me. Ever since this scientist...Nacre...Pearl Nacre’s most recent visit, Peridot has been in a sort of perpetual haze. She forgets to eat until I cook her food and yell at her to come and eat with me, and all she does otherwise is sit there at her desk, writing.

She has a written journal she keeps, perhaps because she’s aware that it’ll be easier to take with her should we have to go on the run and hope we can escape to...Russia. I’ll be going there no matter what, but the last thing I want to do is subject someone I’ve grown to care about to the new Russia.

She always writes in this journal, now. Her back is straight, and her gaze is almost always forward, but she still writes in it. It has some important things, like copies of information taken from Lt. General Groves’ files. 

It also contains thirty or forty (I didn’t bother to count, I’m just guessing) pages of rationalizations. Or justifications. Maybe both? I’m not sure. They both seem to mean the same thing, but that’s how it is in English, everything has one connotation or another. Whatever. She writes essays, extensive essays, in perfect penmanship.

Peridot normally does not have perfect penmanship. Her writing has always been messy and unkempt. I guess she’s just putting more focus into getting that perfect. Her motions are mechanical and often she doesn’t bother to dress, so I have a normal, talkative tiny scientist who, for every night for the last ten days, returns home, drops the act, and goes back to mechanically writing in Spanish in her journal, with the speed of a sewing machine. This little purple journal has become her entire world, and I think it would be considered a security risk, even if it were empty. As mentioned, it isn’t.

Eventually, on the eleventh day of seeing her pretend to be normal for the outside world and come back home to become...whatever she actually is after Pearl’s third visit, I have to curse the worthless...So, finally, I poked her, and she jumped out of her chair, and then she went back to her chair, and I yelled. “No! You’re not doing this, Peridot! What the hell happened?”

She turned to me and whimpered, like this was the most obvious fact in the world.  “I need this journal, Lapis...”  I was on the verge of kicking her in the head, but I tried to collect myself. “Why do you ‘need’ the security risk?”

She spoke like she was on the world's biggest caffeine high. “It’s not a risk, you’ve got to understand me, it’s not a risk, it’s got important things! It’s got copies of notes in Spanish, in case we need to burn the originals, it’s got all of my essays, and I need those essays, I really need to keep writing those essays, they’re about this and everything and arguments as to why Pearl isn’t real in this one, and in this one Pearl is real but I shouldn’t listen to her, and a bunch of them are about why I should keep doing this, if I don’t have these, Pearl keeps saying I should sleep and that the notes’ll be here in the morning but Pearl’s a liar...”

I told her that Pearl was right on this and that she needed to at least try to sleep, and she couldn’t. She was dealing with insomnia, apparently, and that lasted for about three days before she finally gave in and slept. I called in and noted that Dr. Cardoso had to take a sick day, and when she woke up, she seemed better. Still jittery, probably even more so, still kind of obsessed with the journal, but not mechanical about it. She was human again, and dear god, _ I _ embraced  _ her _ for once and it seemed like there was a chance we weren’t all going to...end up the way we’d been thinking about it.

 

 

**PERIDOT:**

Logdate: January 1st, 1948. Well, it’s the New Year. So that’s something! Anyway, Log-Diary-Thing, I should probably get into the details here. I’m sure that Lapis has said a lot to her ghost or possible manifestation of her self-loathing about this, but I should probably give my whole perspective.

Pearl’s last visit came with it some unfortunate effects, which, of course, I can and shall logically blame on Pearl herself. So, here’s what happened, essentially. Pearl appears, goes off on some thing about how she’s afraid and not sure what to do, and all that, and trying to tell me the same cruddy message about giving up!

You know what, I can’t give up, that’s basically what I told her, I can’t give up, I’m in this ‘till the end whether I like it or not, so there! Ha! Wait, no, that’s not actually a good thing, but whatever. Anyway, what was I talking about? Right, right, right, right, the Pearl thing, so...Pearl appears at the foot of my bed, for the third time, and I see white patterns of butterflies flapping their wings and they envelop me and stick to my face and my arms in my bed and smother me until I see through my own eyes in our house...I see me handing over files and paperwork and notes from the journal to Lapis, who puts them in her bag, and I know where they’re going, they’re going to the other side, and I can’t see the notes but I know in this dream, and now, yes, I’m sure the whole thing was a dream, but I know that there are descriptions of a process for purifying plutonium, and information about Strategic Air Command and what the hell do we know about Strategic Air Command, that’s not Lt. General Groves’ thing that’s LeMay and who the hell knows where that’s centered, I don’t know...

And then it ended. 

The butterflies came and enveloped me, smothered me, and I took a deep breath and tried to push them away but they kept coming and sticking my arms to my chest like an Egyptian mummy....and then I woke up. I thought. I was sure I woke up, but in retrospect, that’s a ridiculous thing to think, considering what it looked like. 

I stood on a field of glass with a mirrored sky that, predictably, also looked like an endless field of glass, and there I met some dead people.

At this point, it seems to be sort of a habit of mine, I know, right? How queer. Anyway, the first one I met was Pearl, and she had this dummy with big pink hair, like a sewing dummy, and she was dancing a waltz with it, and I don’t know if this was a real Pearl or not but at the time I thought I woke up. So, she danced the waltz, and kept speaking, ranting, not yelling but ranting. By the end, it sounded like she was going to tear up. She had a sickly blue glow around her the whole time.

“Oh, Rose, Rose, Rose, how could this have happened, you’re here with me, but you’re not, and I know you’re not, and I guess it’s over now, isn’t it, but I swear that whatever we had...You killed it. Why him, Rose? Why Greg? What did he have that I didn’t? I’d die for you, Rose! I would have died for you. What could he give you? We got so far, Rose, and you never noticed, even when we shared our drinks in private, together, alone, and... We got so far, Rose...We could have...It should’ve been different.”

Then the butterflies came and cut her in half in their massive swarm, and in the place of Pearl and the Rose dummy was Lapis, dressed in a trench coat, without eyes, just water from what I somehow knew was the Black Sea pouring out of her eyeholes. Not like tears. Like blood. She had half of her head blown out, too, anyway, chunks of flesh and viscera just floating there in the air, and she spoke, as if she were fine. 

“Peridot, I should probably confide something in you. I’m starting to care about you, and that’s not a good thing. I usually get by by being numb to everything. It’s how I’ve survived. So...I think I’ve decided to make myself numb to you, too. Sorry. It was only a matter of time.”

There was a pause then, and I felt as though she’d just kicked me in the chest, and I stopped, gasping for breath at the animated effigy of the woman who’s the only person I have anymore. She nodded, smiled, brushed a finger against my cheek while the Black Sea water flooded down her face and the viscera hung in the air, and kissed me on the lips. It took five seconds and it was an insult the whole time. I begged her to stay, but she just snapped her fingers.  “You’re a lunatic, Peridot.”  Then, she vanished, turning into the butterflies.

I wasn’t sure if she meant that I was a terrible partner in her spy work, or a terrible wife, but either way...Then Amethyst appeared, and she was alive. No, she was an avenging angel, wings the length of semi-trucks, bursting out of her back, the squat little scientist beating her wings in the air for a moment like a dragon.

White wings, perfect feathers. White wings, perfect feathers. White wings, perfect feathers. Black sea. It should’ve been- Stop. I keep trying to remember, but I’m...remembering improperly, focusing on the wrong things. She landed in front of me, dressed in a collared shirt with a stain over the left side that frankly seemed completely counter to the burning eyes and massive wings, and she poked me in the chest, her finger against my simple green nightgown, so I spoke, I told her that I had blood on my hands, and whatever she was here to punish me for, that I had no choice, now.

“Blood on your hands?”  Amethyst rolled her eyes and held out a hand, and the butterflies made for her a handkerchief, which she slapped into my hand.  “Blood on your hands? You know why those of us who didn’t ruin our lives stabbing America in the back did it, right? Hitler was going to make one, if he didn’t, someone else would, and look at the world, Peridot. We were just scientists, and eventually someone would make the bomb for someone. If anyone has “blood on his hands”, it’s Truman, not you, not me. War’s over, and you’re trying to start another one. I trusted you, Peridot. I liked you. A lot. I wanted to chat with you, but you were never there, especially when your fucking commie girlfriend got into the picture. Hell...Before you lost it, after P got obsessed with Rose...I thought maybe I could...find someone else. I know you apparently completely forgot about me, Peridot, but I sure as hell didn’t forget about you. Honestly, maybe it’s my fault. Maybe I should have said something before you met the commie, but I was afraid P would make a fuss, and hey, that’s just how it all goes, then. Right now, though? I’m wondering what I saw in you. You’re a lunatic and a traitor in love with someone who’d kill you if it kept her alive. I hope they execute you, if I don’t get it right first.”

I balled up the handkerchief, threw it back at her, and said some things I’d rather not repeat for this little audio log, then...then she had the butterflies swarm to her hand, turn into a long saber, and she raised it, about to bring it down on my head.

Then I woke up in my bed, and I started to think a bit too quickly, hoping to find some solution or justification for this, to prove any of this wrong, to prove that Lapis loved me, that I’m doing the right thing, to prove that I’m not going to die for nothing.

I hate my imaginary friends.

  
  
  
**LAPIS:**

It worked. It’s a simple statement. It worked. Apparently that’s what Dr. Oppenheimer said about this bomb when it first dropped. No crap about the “Destroyer of Worlds” or what have you. Just...”It worked”. A simple expression, a relieved exclamation, whatever. 

Well...Shit. Here goes. Zhasbera, I know you’re going to make fun of me for this, and honestly, I don’t care.  We were sitting there, at home, and I started to rant at you.  Like a lunatic.  We’re all mad here. Anyway, I started to rant, but I couldn’t even get past the first two sentences. Thinking, It was something like this, if I’m remembering this:

“How the hell am I expected to do any of this when I know that if I actually do make it back to Russia I’ll end up shot for being a counterrevolutionary, or a wrecker, or just because someone wants to take whatever I can actually own, so I get denounced, and then there I am in a labor camp or worse? Why the hell should I care?”

Then I stopped, and saw her walk towards me. Peridot. Or, well, she bounced towards me, kind of. Floated? It was weird. Her every movement was filled with purpose and this sense that she knew exactly what she was doing.

I had no idea what she was doing, but she seemed like she did. Honestly, it was kind of strange. For all of her talk about me being a mysterious Soviet spy woman or however she phrased it, I have never understood the way that Peridot’s mind works.

Some days she’s Queen of the World, other days she’s miserable. Some days she’s utterly obsessed with doing minor, often useless things, like she’s a defective machine trying to do the same thing over and over...and some days she’s willing to take a near-stranger on a walk around the outskirts of her home city dressed in a somewhat immodest blue dress. I’m almost certain that she isn’t aware of the fact that it is immodest.

She just...At first I thought that Dr. Cardoso was insane. Now, I’m certain she’s insane. If she thinks I’m mysterious, it’s because of how much time I spend trying to be seen as mysterious. She’s mysterious because Olivia Arriola Cardoso makes no god damn sense. She’s just a very inconsistent person.

That’s the thing, though. I’m sitting here three days ago, watching Peridot move around the house in sharp, short motions. She keeps trying to do...things...that I can’t really see, since she’s mostly behind me, but sometimes she passes by me.

I wait, and I have to wait silently for a good half hour before she seems even willing to pause in whatever strange task she’s set herself to, and I speak as authoritatively as I can. “Sit.”  I jerk my head at the couch. It’s an old couch, a soft, pale pink couch, and she’s kind of bouncing a knee a bit, so I try to ignore that.

I turn to her, take a deep breath, and steady myself to talk to her. “I’ve been with you pretending to be your wife for over a year now. You’ve shown me that you have...how do you say it...a lot of kinks to work out. You’re a queer person, and I can live with that. I actually care about you, Peridot. A lot.” Peridot still bounces her leg, but looks at me now, instead of at the wall. Would I die for her? I’m not sure.

I continue. “You’re funny, cute, clearly trying to be a good person, which is more than I can say for me...Let’s be honest, Peridot. You’re the best thing that’s ever come to my life, though that might be due to the low bar. So, if this is what we’re going to do until...Well, anyway, I love you. I actually love you.” At that point, I suspected something was going to go horribly wrong, especially if she returned the favor, as anyone with a brain could see she would.

 

 

**PERIDOT:**

Holy crap! She actually said it! Sure, it was in this weird, sort of language, like she was almost ashamed of it, but I’m going to be honest here, I sort of expected that. She’s...not egotistical, but it’s like, she has an ego that she needs for others to make sure they don’t think she’s...weak, maybe? Pathetic? In need of a bullet to the brain?

I think that last one’s it. Honestly, though, it still...It was like this frozen hand that had been choking me ever since our first date had finally let up, and I’d gotten a chance to breathe freely, and oh my God, did I breathe.

I spoke, of course, as quickly as I could without sounding totally incomprehensible. “Well, yeah, obviously, I mean, I can kind of see why. I’m a brilliant scientist and cute. Apparently.” I said, entirely exaggerating my ego. My ego is interesting. It’s kind of constantly in flux. It wants to fill the room and be everywhere, like, I finally want to just be recognized as someone who...deserves to be recognized.

Oh. Damn it. That’s probably why I helped to kill...whatever tens of thousands it ended up being in Nagasaki. Sure, my “help” was negligible, but still. I can’t fucking forget it. I should have sabotaged it, but no. I had to be the leader. Even when I wasn’t the leader.

I know it’s hard to imagine me as being arrogant or egotistical, but I assure you that I was once a very cocky woman. I feared the world, so I guess I tried to put up a shell. Then...life showed me how fragile the shell was.

Anyway, another trait of mine is my tendency to get side-tracked with useless information that’s all pretty inconsequential. Anyway, my point is that some of those old tendencies came back. Oh, how hilarious it would be if it was the other way around. If I started as a depressed Peridot in collusion with a totalitarian regime and ended up as arrogant and socially awkward but free to make my own choices. 

I’m sure I’d be happier.

But, since that wasn’t how it went, I’ll get away from what-ifs. Lapis laughed at my little bout of arrogance, and I put a hand on my hip and asked why she found it so funny. She stopped, I suspect she was trying to think of a lie, but she said something I dearly hope is true.

“You’re a resilient person, Peridot. Even after all of this. You can break, and break, and break, and break, and break, over and over again...but you’ll never shatter for good. That’s rare.”  I stopped at that, and she brushed a finger down my cheek, taking my head lightly in her hands and planting a long kiss there. Let’s make it clear. We’ve kissed a lot, but each time it was always in public, and I never knew whether it was love or acting.

This, though? It was private, and, more importantly (maybe just to me), it was right after she told me she loved me. Sure...She could still be lying, and maybe I’ll never know for certain, but damn it, I’m going to take this.

  
  



	5. The Revenants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All good things must come to an end.

**AMETHYST:**

I never thought that this would happen. Honestly, it was the kind of thing I didn’t want to think  _ could  _ happen. I trusted her. I cared about her. I might have even loved her. I’m still not sure, but I guess it turns out that Peridot was a liar.

I knew there was something wrong with her wife. I knew that she was faking the accent. She was good at it, and it took me a while to piece it all together, but I did. Still, I wanted to hope that Peridot was just being played, ya know? I listened in on her when she thought she and Peridot were alone.

They were in a side hallway at Los Alamos, whispering. She spoke with a thin Ruskie accent, Peri was ranting under her breath. They thought nobody was around. They thought they could talk safely. 

I saw them kiss, and you know what? I wouldn’t have objected, I just wanted Peridot to be happy. I saw her drop the accent, and I saw Peridot mention ‘mistakes’. You didn’t have to be a genius to pick up on that. Peridot knew, and so did I.

I mean, I  _ am  _ a genius. I’m in Mensa, I kick-started the atomic future! Still, though...You’d think for such a smart person, that I’d have seen this shit coming, wouldn’t you? I would’ve thought that I could.

I confronted her, a few hours after I listened in to her panic attack. I asked her “what the hell?”, and she just...broke down. I don’t know what was going on with her, but she fell on her knees and started to cry hysterically. “I just bit off more than I could chew, Amy.” That was what she said.

So I responded with “You just ‘bit off’ more than you could chew? You betrayed your country, you worked with a communist...You betrayed all of us! What is wrong with you?” I yelled. She nodded. “Yeah, and I had to do it.” She said. I wanted to sock her in her goddamn face at that point. I almost did. We had to stop the Nazis before they got the Bomb, and the Soviets are about as bad. I had to do it. I have to do it.

I stood there, glaring down at her. I told Peridot that I was going to tell everyone, that I was going to make her pay for lying to us and treating us like dupes. I think I started crying too. I’m not sure if it was just anger or if it was the fact that she’d been stabbing us in the back this whole time. Maybe it was both. 

  
  


**LAPIS:**

It’s over. We’re done. Peridot told me the news, Amethyst reported us, now there’s no way around it. Mission failure. I think I’m going to die once I get back to the USSR. I probably deserved to die earlier, when I did what that SS-Hauptsturmfuhrer wanted. I probably should’ve died when I cut deals with fascists.

I guess that fate has a way of following you, doesn’t it? You think you’re doing well, you think it’s all according to plan, and then it all breaks down. I probably should’ve seen it happening when Peridot started to break down. Ghosts, mania, really? Madness.

Still, though, I didn’t, and now she’s going to get arrested and I’m going to die. There’s only one thing I can do, knowing that.   
  
  


 

**PERIDOT:**

I won’t get into the nitty-gritty details of the whole thing. I’m not going to talk about what we did to each other. We made love. It was as good of a distraction as you’d expect, and we needed the best distraction we could get.

She was...perfect at it, at least, as far as I could tell. I was hopelessly inept, barely fumbling around her body, while she played me like the proverbial fiddle. If you’re going to go to prison, you may as well make the last time you have count, right?

So I was thinking about all that, and I stood in front of the House Un-American Activities Committee. It was nerve-wracking. 

‘Are you, or are you not, a communist?’ No.

‘Did you, or did you not, hand atomic secrets to a Soviet spy?’ Yes.

‘Do you understand you have been charged with conspiracy under the Espionage Act?’ Yes.

‘Have you had any contact with the Communist Party or any communist front organizations?’ No.

‘Are you legally married to Lapis Lionidze?’ No, but I wish I was.   
  
  


 

**JASPER:**

It’s been a long trip, hasn’t it, Lionidze? Here we are. The concrete is cold, and you’re a fascist whore. Open your eyes. You’re closing your eyes. Why are you closing your eyes? This is your time to die, Lionidze. Lapis. Lapis! Open your fucking eyes and face death.

It’s still going to hurt, you know. When the bullet pierces through the back of your head and drills through your skull, then the brain, then the skull again, then the skin. Well, I know what it means now. Remember when this started? Well, with your girlfriend. By the way, I don’t talk like this. These metaphors...They’re not me. They’re more for a wannabe noblewoman than a goddamned soldier...Lapis.

I think I feel myself in the soldier’s body, like a ghost in the stories. I think I have his hand, my hand, on the trigger. I think I see you, eyes closed, arms and legs cuffed, you still dressed in that polka-dot-American-dress you were captured in. I think I see that.

Do I? I’m speaking like you imagine a ghost to...even if I never would. Metaphors. Bullshit about Mother Russia - Not your mother, Georgian - and the Devil...So, before you die, I want you to know that you were talking to a shadow this whole time.

No, you were talking to a goddamn memory. A memory too stubborn to die because you couldn’t forget me. I’m a split personality, or a manifestation of whatever guilt you carry. Or, maybe I’m a ghost, a Politruk filtered through your mind and your perceptions. Regardless, I will watch you die.

The moment of truth. By the way, I know your eyes are closed. I’m not really behind you, I didn’t possess anyone. I was a soldier. Now, I’m as much a part of you as your fear is.

I feel it. You play dead, internally, this whole goddamn time, you try to seem like the “Mysterious Soviet Woman” to the Americans, the “True Soviet Airwoman” to us, then you were the traitor fascist...You’re whatever you need to be, but as soon as you finally find someone, anyone you can care about...You latch onto them like a barnacle.

Here we are.

The final proof that I died like a hero and you died like a traitorous Western whore. Thank you for imagining me pulling the trigger. When we both go, I want you to know this. You were the only devil I ever saw.

  
  


**LAPIS:**

Comrades, I hope there’s a heaven and a hell. Then, you’ll burn with the Devil and I’ll be in Heaven with Peridot. “You believe you’re a good person?” Quiet, Jasper. I believe God will understand.

 

 

**PERIDOT:**

What started with guilt ends with, well...Huntsville State Penitentiary, I’m due to get a visit from Amy Baumann...She’ll probably have a lot to say. I see the ghosts of Lapis and Pearl hanging around me in the air, and they’re chattering, and talking, voices in my head...I’m not crazy.

Maybe I am crazy.

At least I’m not alone. I don’t think I’ll forget that Soviet spy. I mean, what else am I going to think about, trapped in here? Worst case, I have imaginary friends.

 


End file.
